OBSIDIAN HEIR

ROCCO Echeverria never forgot the night his life was burned to the ground. He was fourteen years old then, but the memories didn’t blur with time. They sharpened. He remembers every detail of it. In his dreams, he’s haunted by it. Every color was more vivid, every sound louder than it should’ve been. Even now, two decades later, he could close his eyes and still hear the whistle of bullets tearing through his home. He could still feel the heat of the fire clawing up his back as he ran for his life. That night started like any other. He and his brother, Draco, were holed up in the study, killing time with a chess match while the adults downstairs entertained guests. Rocco remembered the way Draco tapped his fingers against the table, bored, restless as ever. Draco was three years older and already too tall for his age. He always moved like he didn’t belong in the house. Like he was already one foot out the door, even though he never said it. Rocco had just moved his knight into position when the floor trembled. At first, he thought it was just thunder. Valencia had seen weeks of storms. But the second tremor hit harder. The chandelier above them rattled, then shattered, raining glass across the carpet. Draco stood so fast his chair crashed backward. “s**t! Stay behind me,” Draco growled, throwing his arm across Rocco’s chest just as the walls shook from the explosion. It rocked the mansion. The front gates were blown apart. The sound tore through the marble, through the chandeliers, through Rocco’s ears like thunder. Draco didn't wait. He grabbed Rocco by the arm and pulled him down the east hallway. The paintings and family portraits shook violently as another explosion erupt. They turned a corner and came face-to-face with two masked men in gear. Rocco froze. But Draco didn’t. He raised the pistol from under his coat and fired twice, the first shot hit the left man in the shoulder, the second caught the other clean in the chest. That person immediately dropped. The other tried to lift his rifle, but Draco rushed him, tackled him against the wall, and drove his elbow into the man’s jaw. That cause the man’s gun dropped. Draco snatched it up and turned to Rocco. “Take it.” Rocco blinked. “What—” “Take the damn gun!” Draco barked. “You want to survive? You fight.” Rocco’s fingers closed around the cold steel, heavy and foreign in his hand. He had held a gun before, at practice, at the range, with his father watching but never like this. Never while someone ambushed them. He knows he needs to be prepared for this, however he never realized that he’s never ready for this. Footsteps thundered down the hallway ahead. Two more intruders burst with no hesitation and with their rifles raised. Draco fired first, crouched low, catching one in the leg. He looked to Rocco. “Other one. Now.” Rocco didn’t breathe. He didn’t think. He aimed. His hands shook. But he pulled the trigger. The gunshot caused the man’s shoulder jerked back, and he went down hard. Rocco stared. The body twitched. Then stopped. Draco grabbed his collar and yanked him behind the pillar. “Good. But you aim center mass next time, or they’ll get back up.” Rocco felt like he was going to throw up. His lungs burned. But he nodded. They were brothers again. Side by side. In sync. Moving like they had trained for this their whole lives. More voices echoed from the upper floor. The whole house was surrounded. “South wing,” Draco muttered. “If we cut through the courtyard, we might make it to the cellar.” Rocco’s eyes widened. “That’s exposed—” “We don’t have a choice.” They moved together, weaving between toppled furniture and bloodied rugs. At one point, they passed Mateo’s body again, sprawled on the floor. Now, really dead. Rocco’s breath caught. Draco didn’t let him stop. “Keep your eyes forward. Pity gets you killed.” But Rocco did look. Mateo had taught him how to dismantle a rifle blindfolded. Now he was lying in his own blood, his mouth open like he’d died mid-command. Another group stormed the west hallway, cutting off their exit. Draco raised his pistol again, but he was out of ammo. Rocco saw the panic flicker across his face for half a second. He stepped in front of Draco without thinking and fired twice. The recoil nearly knocked him off balance, but the bullets landed, one in the chest, one off to the side. Enough to slow them. Enough to make them retreat. Draco stared at him for a breath. And for the first time, Rocco saw something new in his brother’s eyes. Pride. “Not bad,” Draco said, voice rough. “You’re learning.” The compliment didn’t settle. Not when the hallway lit up again behind them — another explosion. This time, closer. It was coming apart. Everything. Draco shoved him forward. “Run!” Then came the first explosion. It ripped through steel gates and somewhere beneath them, the screams started. Rocco followed Draco down the hallway, heart pounding so hard it made his vision shake. The walls of the mansion that once felt endless now felt like a trap. The air was thick with smoke already, not just fire, but gunpowder, and something even worse. “f**k! Where’s Papa?” Rocco asked, choking on the heat. Draco didn’t look back. “They’re at the west wing. Too far. We get to the safe room.” He saw his brother holding a gun. He didn’t know how he get it but he had no time to ask. They raced down the staircase, only to stop at the sight of two men lying in pools of blood. Rocco recognized one of them. Rocco had seen bodies before. Accidents or the occasional punishment but not like this. Not bleeding out in their own home. Not their own people. Draco pushed him forward. “Don’t look. Move.” They weaved through the lower halls, ducking past burning curtains and broken furnitures. The sound of gunfire never stopped. It echoed from every corner, like the walls themselves were screaming. The guards were still fighting however they were falling one by one to an ambush they hadn’t seen coming. He always knew his family’s wealth came from the kind of business most people feared to whisper about. They didn’t sell cars. They sell drugs and other illegal things to stay wealthy. His father dealt with men in suits who never smiled and men in leather who always carried guns. There were bribes, secret meetings, off-the-record shipments. People were paid to look the other way, and if they didn’t, they disappeared. Rocco wasn’t naïve. Even at twelve, he understood what built the mansion they lived in. The private jets. The offshore properties. The luxury. It all came from things no child should’ve had to understand. But even then, he never hated his family for it. Because they weren’t monsters to him. They were his. He know any moment from now, they will get attacked. But not in this location. Not in his mother’s home. Tío is one of the men that was trusted by their father. He was also a protector of the two teenagers, reason why he had pistol when they found him in the hallway, coughing blood and mumbling prayers. He reached toward them, but collapsed before Draco could even bend down. By the time they reached the wine cellar, Rocco’s legs felt numb. The heat was unbearable. The hallway to the east wing was caving in. Draco threw open the steel hatch to the safe room. “Inside. Now.” Rocco hesitated. “What about you?” “I’m right behind you.” Rocco ducked in, but before Draco could follow, the world exploded. A second blast shook the corridor. Rocco was thrown against the wall. Smoke rushed in like a flood, and Draco — Draco was gone. “No—” Rocco crawled out of the hatch, coughing, half-blind. “Draco!” The hallway was a nightmare. Dust fell like snow. The floor was splintered and cracked. The chandelier had collapsed at the far end, pinning something beneath it. He found Draco there. Trapped. Blood running down his temple, leg crushed under the debris. He was still conscious, barely. His eyes found Rocco’s face. “I told you to go,” Draco rasped. “I’m not leaving without you,” Rocco said, voice shaking. He tried to pull at the beam, but it wouldn’t move. His hands slipped on the blood. “I can get you out. I swear I can—” “You’re going to die if you stay.” “I don’t care!” Draco grabbed him by the collar. Even weak, his grip was solid. “You have to live, Rocco. Don’t f**k up!” “What the f**k are you saying—” Rocco’s voice cracked. He pressed his arms to his brother’s. “Please. Please don’t—” The ceiling groaned. Another cracked and the walls were falling. Draco shoved him hard. “Go!” Rocco stumbled back. The last thing he saw was his brother’s face vanishing behind smoke. And then — the floor collapsed. He hit something hard. Everything turned black.